


Be the First

by FelicisQuill2



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff, Hooker!Clarke, Porn with Feelings, The 100 (TV) Kink Meme, Virgin!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:44:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicisQuill2/pseuds/FelicisQuill2
Summary: This one's from the kink meme, bitches.Virgin!Bellamy visits Hooker!Clarke to lose his virginity.BP: Fluffy and caring and all around sweetDBP: If she offers to keep seeing him





	1. Chapter 1

The Dropship is loud, and the balmy air hovers all around them like they're in the Caribbean. Bellamy's feeling light and loose despite his being wedged into the curving black leather booth between a gleeful Murphy and a smirking Miller. All his friends are here, except Monty who had to stay late at the lab, and he's on his third rum and coke. 

 

Sure, it's not exactly the birthday celebration he had in mind. But somehow he got roped into it down at the precinct. They were in the break room when his partner Miller asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. 

 

"I got an idea," Murphy - it remained a mystery how he'd been promoted to crime scene investigator a few weeks ago - wiggled his eyebrows. 

 

"No one wants to hear it," Bellamy shoved past him on the way to the fridge after taking one look at the shit-eating grin on his face. 

 

"I do," Miller, the fucking traitor, said. 

 

"Dropship," Murphy fake-whispered, making both p's pop. 

 

"Dude!" Jasper chose that moment to walk in. He still had his signature goggles perched on top of his head from the evidence lab. "I've always wanted to go there! When are we going?" 

 

"Saturday night," Murphy said easily, ignoring Bellamy's murderous look. "Chill out, man," he patted him on the shoulder on his way to the drink machine. "You're gonna love it. It's gonna be the time of your life." 

 

"I've already been. It wasn't," Bellamy grumbles. But nobody pays any attention to him. 

 

Now they're feet away from a stage dusted in gold glitter where the fourth dancer of the night, a petite brunette with cat eyes, is gliding around a pole then launching into some kind of upside down split that Bellamy's sure defies gravity. It's got to be the grand finale of her flawless performance. He glances at Murphy, whose chin's nearly on the table, and sees he's not alone in his awe. 

 

"She looks like she'd be fun, huh?" Murphy shoves his elbow into Jasper's side, who yelps. Miller chuckles. 

 

"Give it up for Ontari's magical moves," comes a booming voice over the sound system. The applause is raucous. 

 

Bellamy downs the last of his drink moments before a pretty blonde approaches with a fresh round of lemon yellow shots on a well-balanced tray. 

 

"Hey there," she smiles at them. "I heard there's a birthday boy over here." 

 

"Guys," he grits, staring pointedly at Miller. 

 

His partner offers a one-shoulder shrug and takes a drag of his beer. "Roan knows I helped his girl out of a tricky spot a while back. Azgeda never forgets his debts." 

 

"Yeah, but I don't want--"

 

"Relax," Murphy grips his shoulder hard and turns back to the blonde. "Thanks, uh," he squints at her nameplate. "Harper. It's this ugly asshole right here." 

 

Harper grins and bends forward to place the tray down. And, Bellamy assumes, to give him a good view down her tight black tank top. He flushes and looks away. 

 

"It's all right, handsome," she ruffles his hair. "I don't mind if you look." 

 

She begins passing out the shots. "Lemon drops on the house," she winks at Miller. Jasper might as well have been turned to stone he's gone so still. "You'll let me know if you need anything _extra_ _special,_ won't you, handsome?" Harper reaches over Murphy to slide her hand up Bellamy's thigh and squeeze it. 

 

"Uhh, I--," Bellamy tries to clear his throat. 

 

"Thanks," Murphy cuts in smoothly. "He'll keep that in mind." 

 

As soon as she's gone, hips swaying seductively in her wake, Bellamy rounds on Miller. 

 

"Just what the fuck did you sign me up for? I want to hear everything now while I'm still sober enough to hurt you." 

 

Miller's shoulders start to shake with suppressed laughter. "Only you would get this bent out of shape when a beautiful girl offers you a lap dance, Blake." 

 

"I don't remember Echo getting busted for a lap dance," Bellamy hisses back. 

 

"Ohhh," Jasper nods like a drunk wise man. "No fucking way! Really? Here," he leans in toward his friends and opens his eyes wider. 

 

"Yes, here, idiot," Murphy leans back as the music starts to swell up again, throwing his hands behind the back of his head. "It's full-service." 

 

"Shit," Jasper is smiling too now, and it makes Bellamy's stomach clench. "You guys are something else." 

 

They can't really expect him to fuck one of these girls on some dirty mattress backstage, can they? Miller's the only one who knows, the only one whom he's ever told. He's not exactly ashamed of it. He'd fooled around with Roma and Bree, gotten really close with Gina before her parents came home unexpectedly early that one night. It's just-- single-handedly raising a rebellious younger sister when their mom died a couple years ago wasn't easy, ok? It didn't leave a lot of free time for fucking in bar bathrooms when he had to cook Octavia dinner and check her homework. 

 

Bellamy's mind's whirring at a million miles a minute as the lyrics of that song he's heard before but can't quite place rise in volume. 

 

_"You make it look like magic_

_'Cause I see nobody, nobody but you, you you."_

 

This dancer is a little younger than Ontari. Her blonde messy waves end just past her shoulders, and she rocks her hips seductively in time to the music. The crowd down in the front - must be regulars - shout their approval when the announcer tells them all to, "Give it up for The Princess!" 

 

"You can't really expect me to--" he begins but...

 

Bellamy momentarily loses his breath when he catches the clear blue of her eyes. Her small hand reaches for the silver pole and she lounges back against it, thrusting out her breasts to the audience. 

 

_"I'm so used to being used_

_So I love when you call unexpected."_

 

Her outfit is almost like a modest bikini  - jet black but with crazy colorful zigzag lines all over it as if it were spray painted. The top's only got one shoulder strap, and when she turns around, Bellamy realizes the high-waisted bottom is bright red and ripped up in places, leaving parts of her ass exposed. He feels his dick start to harden right then. 

 

"I think he saw something he likes," Miller is practically guffawing at this point. 

 

But The Princess is wrapping her creamy thighs around the pole and pressing her hips into it so good he doesn't care about anything else. She lets her willowy upper body fall backwards, blonde hair streaming down toward the stage. 

 

_"So I'ma care for you, you, you_

_I'ma care for you, you, you, you, yeah."_

 

"That's right!" Murphy shouts out suddenly. "Work it, Princess!" 

 

A growl Bellamy doesn't understand rips from his throat. "Shut up," he tells his friend. The alcohol is telling him to punch Murphy, but that's really, really stupid. His catcall was loud enough to catch the blonde's attention, and she looks their way when she stands back up. 

 

Bellamy swears he feels each click of her bright red stilettos against the floor like the beating of his own heart. She crouches down on her haunches, legs spread enough that he can make out the puckering of the material rubbing against her crotch. Jesus, his dick is becoming a problem. Her eyes flit over Murphy and Jasper before coming to land on his. His pulse spikes when she sends him a tiny smile. 

 

_"You know our love would be tragic (oh yeah)."_

 

Next thing he knows, her palms hit flat onto the stage behind her and she's undulating her body like the most beautiful snake he's even seen. He can just make out her nipples poking through the fabric of her top. A guy with slicked-back brown hair in the front row throws some bills onto her ivory stomach. Bellamy grips the edge of the table hard enough to turn his tan fingers white.  

 

"Fuck, Murphy!" Miller is saying somewhere on his left. "Look at him. He's a man possessed." 

 

Murphy grins. "I think we have a winner." 

 

Clarke's guzzling a bottle of water backstage, crumpled wad of money sprawled out on the desk in front of her, when Roan taps her on the shoulder. 

 

"Yeah?" she asks a little breathlessly, zipping up the old hoodie securely over her body. 

 

"You did good, Griffin. I like the new moves," he praises. 

 

She throws him a tight smile. "Thanks." 

 

His top teeth slice into his bottom lip before he sighs, heavy, and glides a hand through his messy hair. 

 

"Tips don't lie," he nods to the desk before returning his attention to her. "So, uh, how's art school? You working on a final project or something?" 

 

Clarke quirks up an eyebrow at her boss. In the six months she's been working at The Dropship, he's never once asked her about her education. 

 

"It's ... going fine," she hedges. "I'm starting to put together my portfolio for the end of the year, yeah." 

 

"Good, good," Roan goes quiet but he doesn't move. 

 

Clarke shifts from one foot to the other. It's the end of the night - the second-to-last set is blaring behind them - and she's ready to slip back to her apartment, cater to her swelling blister and collapse into bed to sleep for an obscene amount of time.

 

"Is there...something you needed before I head out?" she asks. 

 

Roan grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, wincing a little. "Look, I know you said you didn't think you wanted to do this again, but I'm sort of in a bind here." 

 

"Oh." She should've seen it coming, honestly. But it still knocks the breath out of her lungs. "An old friend is here tonight. He got me and Echo out of an--unfortunate situation last year, and it's his friend's birthday," he trails off. 

 

"So?" Clarke blinks pointedly at him. 

 

"So his friend liked you," Roan draws himself up to his full height and reaches out a hand to cup the side of her face. "You know this isn't my favorite thing to ask my girls, Clarke, but I need you to do this for me, ok? So you can keep your job and finish all those pretty paintings of yours, hmm? You know it comes with the territory." 

 

She's only done it twice before. Neither time was bad exactly, but it wasn't exactly pleasant either. Still, the money's amazing, and ever since she dropped out of med school and her mother cut her off, well. Let's just say the rent doesn't pay itself. 

 

She pauses a long moment before she edges nearer to the thick curtains blocking them from the view of the audience. "Who is it?" she asks Roan. 

 

He draws back the curtain slightly and gestures toward a black booth near the stage. "My friend's wearing the black button down," he says. "The birthday boy is the one on his right." 

 

Clarke's heart seems to pump overtime for a few seconds, thrumming along her wrists. She remembers him from her performance, messy, dark curls, tan skin, eyes alone that had the power to pin her to a wall. She steps back, trying to ensure Roan can't see her legs wobble a little in the heels. 

 

She nods twice. "Ok, I'll do it." 


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke takes a double shot of whatever amber colored liquid Atom slides down the bar, steeling herself. She decided to keep her hoodie on - it's comfortable. Not to mention how it provides her a cozy blanket around her body and hangs down to the middle of her thighs. The crowd has thinned out considerably, the final dancer of the night taking the stage. 

 

The moment the last of the strong alcohol stings her stomach, she finds Roan motioning her over to the black booth where the group of guys is standing around. The one who requested her is fidgety. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and taking small steps that bring him nowhere. It's a little cute. 

 

The darker-skinned one Roan's talking to claps the mystery man on the back as she approaches. One of the others, a brunette with striking facial hair and ice blue eyes winks at her. 

 

"The Princess awaits, man," he tells her target. His face is peppered with freckles she realizes. 

 

His eyes are dark brown like how chocolate sauce flows out of those lava cakes. They're steady on her even as he rubs the back of his neck. 

 

"Hi," he manages, voice croaky but gruffer than she'd imagined.

 

She throws him a half-smile, cocking her head to the side. "Hi, yourself."  

 

Roan smirks and motions for the others to follow him. "Let's let them get acquainted, shall we? Can I offer you another round of drinks on the house? I don't want to brag, but our hot pretzels are killer." 

 

The youngest guy, he must be around her age, nods eagerly at the mention of food. Then they're leaving, Roan's friend calling out, "Go get, 'em!" before he goes. 

 

Joan Jett is wailing in the background while they eye each other curiously. He's taller than her, even in her heels, though he's slouching a little with his hands buried in his pockets. His broad shoulders make him seem even larger. She finds herself watching the pink dart of his tongue when he licks his lower lip. 

_"The beat was going strong, playing my favorite song_

_And I could tell it wouldn't be long til he was with me_

_Yeah with me."_

 

"Uh, I'm Bellamy. Bellamy Blake," he extends his hand to her. 

 

Normally she doesn't give out her real name - she upholds the Princess persona. It's safer for her. A lot of nut jobs frequent these kinds of places. But something about the vulnerability of his hesitant smile and the way his eyes stay trained on hers makes her cave. 

 

"Clarke Griffin," she slides her hand into his, kind of fascinated with the way it engulfs it. 

 

He squeezes gently and makes a brief show of peering around her frame. 

 

"Don't see wings or a tail," he teases. 

 

The whirs and ticks in Clarke's brain are moving just slightly too slow. 

 

"Huh?" 

 

"Griffins," he says, more melodic this time. "They're like these mythological creatures with the body of a lion but head and wings of an eagle. People in the ancient world thought they guarded treasure or were guardians of the divine--"

 

He seems to realize he's rambling because he blushes and pulls his hand away. 

 

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Ignore me." 

 

She steps closer to him, brushing up nearly against his chest. This might not be so bad after all.  

 

"That would be very hard to do." 

 

His nervous laughter causes a swooping sensation in her stomach. She leans back against the side of the cushioned booth and looks up at him appraisingly. 

 

"So are you a teacher or something?" she guesses. 

 

"No," Bellamy replies. "A cop." 

 

It's her turn to laugh. "Ironic," she widens her eyes at him, still playful. "You want to handcuff me?" She means it as a joke, but he looks so startled she feels badly. 

 

"I mean," he clears his throat loudly. "I guess if you wanted me to, but--"

 

Clarke takes pity on him, running a hand over his cheek and reaching down to interlock their fingers before pulling him toward the back of the club. The sound of the stage becomes more muffled the farther they go until all she can hear is their footsteps. 

 

"First time doing this, Blake?" 

 

"That obvious?" 

 

"A little." She grants him a small smile and tries not to visibly react when he returns it. 

 

"It wasn't me. I didn't know," he tries to explain, still fumbling over his words. "I mean it was my friend, Miller. He signed me up or..." he shrugs. "However this works." 

 

She hums knowingly. 

 

"That's ok. I'll still be good to you." 

 

"Thanks, Princess," he whispers. It's nearly reverent. She glances at him surprised from around her flowing mane of blonde. They've reached the freshly repainted door which leads to the bedroom suite Roan reserves for his top-paying customers. She opens it, revealing the king-sized bed covered in black sheets with silver pillows. 

 

"How'd you get that stage name anyway? If you don't mind me asking. Unless it's none of my business and then just tell me to shut up." 

 

Bellamy seems eager to make conversation with her now that it's quiet. It's like he's desperate to fill up the space between their bodies with noise. Or maybe she's the only one who senses the charge between them. She grins at him and gestures for him to take a seat at the bottom of the bed. Clarke runs a hand over the polished counter of the small kitchenette in the corner. No dust. Someone must have actually cleaned this morning. 

 

"My first night here I got stuck with the sexy Cinderella outfit," she snorts. "I guess with my hair..." 

 

"It doesn't bother you?" He sounds politely curious, eyes tracking over her face. 

 

"Not when you say it."  _Woah. Where did that come from?_

 

"I bet you say that to all the guys," he snarks, a small flash of cockiness he hasn't shown yet. 

 

It shouldn't be so easy to read him, not this soon. But she realizes the exact moment he realizes what he just said was a dick thing to voice aloud. She definitely doesn't want to be reminded of those other guys right now.  

 

"Not that ... I wasn't implying--" he sputters. 

 

"It's ok, it's ok," she soothes, swallowing to regain some moisture back in her throat. "I don't really do this actually," she admits, finally walking over to sit beside him. She leans over and runs her hand up and down her calf for something to do with the building nervous energy. "But Roan said that you liked me?" Her voice squeaks a tiny bit at the end. 

 

Bellamy's eyes darken as they find hers. 

 

"Guilty," he murmurs. It makes her shiver. Then he's shaking his head. "But you could say no if you wanted to, right?" 

 

Clarke purses her lips. Little lines spring up around her mouth. "Technically yes." 

 

The anger is easy to register in him. There's a clench of his fist on his knee, the pulse of tension in his jaw. "So in reality, that's a no?" he grits. 

 

She shrugs as casually as she can pull off, unnerved but unwilling to let him know it. "It's a job. I signed up for it and everything. Nobody makes me stay." 

 

It takes a few moments, but he seems to accept this answer when her face doesn't break. 

 

"What would you rather be doing?" He's nervous again, bringing his hand to the back of his neck to rub it. "I mean, I just thought you probably ... do something else with your days." 

 

Her clients normally never give a shit about what she does when the sun's out. Clarke doesn't recall having ever been asked before this moment. Bellamy's blushing a pleasant crushed pink, so she humors him. He's not what she expected at all. 

 

"I need the money to support myself while I'm working on getting through art school." 

 

"Didn't want to be a barista?" he asks lightly, turning his body more toward hers on the bed. 

 

"These tips are better," she says wryly. 

 

The silence stretches. She catches his long fingers begin drumming out a pattern on his knee as if he's expecting more. But she doesn't offer anything. 

 

"Really? That's it?" His rich undertone is more curious than judgmental. 

 

"My mom cut me off," she finds herself revealing before snapping her mouth shut. 

 

"Why?" he asks softly. 

 

The one word makes her whole back go rigid. But she melts a little when his hand slides over hers. It's nice. Warm. His thumb is stroking up the skin beside her forefinger. 

 

"After my dad died, she wanted me to become a doctor. He had cancer. I just--couldn't." 

 

He murmurs something that seems like affirmation before reaching a hand around her hoodie-clad waist and pulling her into the side of his body. It's so disarming that it reminds her of the reality of their situation. 

 

Leaning back, she moves toward his jeans button to open it, but he stops her, catching her wrists in his hands. 

 

"What?" Clarke asks hesitantly before peering up at him. "You don't want to?" It kind of hurts, which is stupidly strange. 

 

"Ummm..."

 

"Whatever," she tries to sound nonchalant. "It's your money. We can just sit here if you want." She knocks her red heels against the side of the bed for the gratifying thump. Ignoring the rising need to bolt is probably best if she wants to keep her job. 

 

She can hear Bellamy's swallow.

 

"I've, ugh, God," he starts. "I've never done this before." 

 

She blinks, the cakey mascara Harper loaded her lashes up with starting to stick.  

 

"I know. You told me." 

 

"No," he shakes his head. "I mean I've  _never_  done this." 

 

A forehead wrinkle breaks out right between her eyes. She can't help the slightly hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat. 

 

"Stop fucking around with me," she swats at his shoulder. 

 

Bellamy's jaw clenches again. He runs his palms up and down his thighs. 

 

"Is that so hard to believe?" he asks after a long pause. 

 

She leans back, a sound of true surprise slipping out. "Yes," she says almost immediately. Then she notices the red tinge to his ears. 

 

_Oh my God he's really serious._

 

"Why?" His voice is harder now. It reminds her of boulders. 

 

"Bellamy," she drags her palm through the air facing upward, taking in his ridiculous biceps and the fucking dimple in his chin.  _Seriously, who the hell was this attractive?_  "Look at you." 

 

He raises a dark eyebrow. "Meaning?" 

 

She bites her tongue, blocking the smirk at the return of his sarcasm. 

 

"You're really good looking. You know that," she tacks on at the end so it sounds more scientific and less like she's inwardly drooling. 

 

Bellamy breaks out with the first genuine grin she's seen. His teeth are white and straight. His eyes twinkle. 

 

Oh yeah, she's very, very fucked. 

 

Well .... hopefully. 


	3. Chapter 3

"At least there's that," he says. 

 

"You're agreeing that you're attractive?" Clarke chuckles in disbelief. 

 

"Nah." He ducks his chin and when he looks at her again, she realizes his eyelashes are long and curved. "I just meant I'm glad it's a mutual thing," he motions between them. 

 

"Oh." Clarke grabs one of his hands in flight and uses the leverage to climb into his lap, swinging a leg on the other side of his body with more confidence than she feels. "Yeah I'd say we have that going for us." 

 

Staring right into his eyes is something she intuitively knows she can't do for long, even though it's nearly impossible to break the contact once it's been made. His gaze is equal parts kindness mixed with shock, like he can't believe his luck. The coarse material of his dark jeans rubs along the bottoms of her bare thighs. She scoots a little closer to him and the growing bulge between his legs. Bellamy drops a hand low along her waist, a carefully comforting gesture. For a while they don't say anything. Clarke flushes watermelon and brings up a shaky thumb to trace over the bridge of his nose before dragging it down to his lips. His breath comes out in little huffs against her skin. 

 

"Why me?" She asks the question that's been on her mind this whole time. 

 

Bellamy is taken aback but schools the surprise on his face pretty fast despite whatever he's had to drink tonight. She wonders what liquor he'll taste like. 

 

"You were confident with your routine without being scary," he says after thinking about it. The width of his hand is enough so his thumb can stroke her stomach through the cotton hoodie. It feels like a million points of light right on that spot as he sweeps over it. 

 

"Like Ontari?" she jokes. 

 

He grins, relieved. "Yeah, like her. But ... shit, this is going to sound crazy." 

 

"I'm sure I've heard worse." 

 

He surprises her by pulling her closer. She barely has time to let out an "Oh" before he's legitimately nuzzling at her collarbone with his nose, breathing her in. It's the most intimate thing anybody's done with her in a while. Maybe ever if she's being honest. His stubble tickles her. 

 

"When Murphy catcalled you, I just got ... angry," he admits, dropping a chaste kiss to the bottom of her throat. Her left shoulder spasms. "And when that guy threw money on your body, I wanted to hit him." 

 

Clarke's eyes widen in confusion. A trickle of arousal slips out of her. She can feel it staining the silly shredded red fabric between her thighs.  

 

"See?" Bellamy says when she remains motionless. "Told you it makes me sound nuts. Maybe that's why I've never--"

 

"You don't," she blurts out quickly, hating the strange disdain creeping into his voice. "You don't sound crazy. I think..." She looks away, tightens her grip on his shoulder for support. "I felt the same thing." 

 

"What do you mean?" His thumb on her belly has slowed down its pace, but he's pushing more deeply into the tissue. She has no idea why her pussy is thrumming from that alone. But it is. "Clarke?" he tries again when she doesn't reply. 

 

Finally, she gives him a tentative smile, running her fingers up under his shirt sleeves to rub at the backs of his arms. The skin is smooth and tight and warm to her touch with rising ripples where the muscles begin. 

 

"After your friend called, I went to the end of the stage for a minute, and you were looking right at me," she whispers. 

 

"You remember that?" It makes her sad somehow that's what he thinks.  

 

"You were kind of hard to forget. At least for me." 

 

Whatever's left of the caramel in his irises is quickly getting eaten up by black. His dick gives a twitch below her, and she can't help herself. She grinds down on him, rolling her hips into his once, then twice more because the feeling's too delicious not to want to chase it.

 

"You feel so good." Bellamy grabs onto her hips with confidence, thrusting up against her core. 

 

A quiet moan tumbles out of her lips that brings a husked "fuck" from his when he helps her move against him in a slow, torturous rhythm that's sure to make her explode. Clarke starts unzipping her hoodie slowly, turned on by his lips falling open as he watches her skin be exposed to him. She shakes her shoulders to get rid of it. With Bellamy's help, it becomes a crumpled heap on the floor. His fingertips glide up and down her arms, leaving bursts of heat in their wake.  

 

"You can ... ummm ... touch them you know." Clarke arches her back a tad, so her breasts rise up to meet him. 

 

He licks his bottom lip and raises his eyebrows at her. "You sure?" 

 

She nods. "I need you to or I'm going to do it myself." 

 

"Christ."  


Clarke squeezes her sky blue eyes shut when his hand wraps around the underside of her right breast, molding the flesh of it through her silky top. His palm's large enough so most of it sits right there in the middle with just a tiny amount spilling over. Bellamy's thumb applies a steady pressure around and around the sloped surface, getting frustratingly close to her nipple before dancing away. The third time he does it, she tightens her knees into his hips in frustration and weaves a few fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, tugging at them. 

 

"Was there something you needed, Princess?" 

 

_Cocky asshole._

"Yes," she huffs. "I need you to--"

 

But he's already leaning forward, encircling her left nipple with his mouth right through her top. She tries not to yelp when his tongue begins insistently poking it to painful hardness. He's laughing into her skin, but she finds she doesn't mind since the tightening is intensifying somewhere deep in her pelvis. 

 

"You looked so sexy on that stage tonight," he tells the gap between her breasts before resuming his sucking. She's sort of paralyzed, hand tight at his neck holding him there because she thinks she might cry if he stops. "Your ass, baby--" a few of his fingers sneak around to her backside. He fingers at the ripped fabric he finds, making her rock harder against him. She normally doesn't like to be touched there, but his fingers burn her several layers deep. "--is the perfect shape." 

 

"So I guess we're doing this?" Clarke shakes her head and tries to regain a shred of control over the proceedings. Bellamy might be a virgin, but he's definitely done  _some_  things before. The enlarging wet spot between her legs is proof of that.  

 

"Only if you want to," Bellamy pulls back, suddenly serious. She misses his mouth on her. 

 

Clarke slides her wrists around his neck and leans forward to purr into his ear. "I thought I was being obvious I wanted to." 

 

This time he's more brazen, drawing both palms tight against her ass cheeks and driving her forward into his dick. She bucks up against the denim. Why he's still fully dressed is beyond her. 

 

"You sure you don't care that I haven't---. That you'll be the first." 

 

Her grin is sharp. "That's the part I like best." 

 

Bellamy groans, lunging forward to bestow biting kisses along her jawbone while one of his fingers glides over the colorful design guarding her pussy and, rubbing up and down the seam of her lips, zeros in on her clit as soon as he finds it. The quick, rough strokes are just what she needs to start to climb. 

 

"God, you're good at that," she praises. "I don't know why you haven't..." She swallows the rest of her words, cheeks pinking and eyes drifting back open from the blissed state that's already fading two seconds after his fingers cease motion. 

 

"You want to know?" he asks. It's definitely not what she thought he was going to say. 

 

"You don't have to tell me!" Clarke rushes, feeling foolish. "We just met. It's none of my business." 

 

Bellamy cocks his head to the side, considering her briefly. "I feel like you'd listen if I did," he settles on. 

 

She's known him for an hour max and already feels protective of the secrets he buries, the flash of pain in his eyes. 

 

Carefully, she bobs her chin up and down. "I would," she says it like a promise.  

 

The press of his mouth to hers is a paradox in every way she can think of. Firm but gentle. Crazed but hesitant. Sweet but dirty in the way his index finger pushes past her bottoms to find her slit already soaking for him. Clarke bucks against its firmness but he draws up and teases her clit instead of sliding it inside her. Bellamy bites down on her lower lip until she opens for him and is met by the sweeping caress of his tongue over hers. It's just wet enough to heighten her arousal further. She groans, gripping at his shirt with her fists tightly. Rum. He had rum tonight. 

 

"Take this off," she manages when he tears his mouth from hers, breathing heavy. His lips are all swollen now, and his eyes are starry from the alcohol and lust and maybe a touch of something more. 

 

She gives him room to remove his navy blue shirt, then slides off his lap back to the ground. He pouts, holding out a hand to her. 

 

"Clarke--"

 

"I'll be right back," she winks at him. Then she sets about unlacing his boots and pulling off his shoes and socks for him. 

 

"Do you mind if I--" she gestures down to her own sky high stilettos. 

 

"No, no, go ahead," he runs a palm over his face. 

 

She slips them off and lines them up along the wall next to his, sighing in relief and rubbing her heel. When she looks up, he's sitting propped up against the pillows, watching her like she amuses him. Of course his chest is well-defined and muscular like the rest of him. There's something really comforting about the tan of his skin next to the black sheets. Clarke slides as gracefully as she can back up on the bed and --without overthinking it--reaches behind her to unsnap her top. It falls away, exposing her aroused nipples to him. She wants to feel his skin on hers so badly. 

 

Bellamy doesn't get much of a chance to gawk at her impressively large breasts. The next moment, she flops down into the crook between his arm and his chest, one hand splayed above his belly button while her ear can make out his faint speedy heart beats. 

 

His hand covers her hip, stroking her there slowly and pulling her into the long line of his body. 

 

"Ok," she stretches up to kiss his shoulder. "I'm listening." 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bellamy smells spicy as she settles against him, the faint hints of cinnamon and possibly ginger mixed into his cologne. She sniffs lightly at his neck. 

 

"Are you sniffing me, Princess?" 

 

"I like your cologne." She shrugs one shoulder, not embarrassed by it. 

 

His chuckle makes her stomach clench pleasantly. 

 

"Glad I could enhance your olfactory experience." 

 

She grins. 

 

"Stop being so intelligent." 

 

"Can't help it. I'm naturally bright." 

 

"You're a dork." 

 

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

 

Clarke snorts then finds the right pillowed part of his shoulder to lean into and starts to relax, her breath evening out. "Go on and start talking, Blake. We're on the clock you know." 

 

He's quiet for a moment, and she thinks maybe she shouldn't have said it, even though it's true. Roan's not going to let anybody spend more than an hour with one of his girls, friend of a friend or not. 

 

Bellamy smoothes a few strands of her honey-colored hair back behind her ear. She hums approvingly. 

 

"My, uh... my mom died a few years ago. It was a drug overdose." His voice is steady but hard like the thought of it alone could break him open anew. "I'm the one who found her in her bedroom. The asshole she was seeing left her there unconscious on the bed. I called the paramedics ... but ... it was too late." 

 

Clarke draws in a sharp breath. Compassion fills her up all at once, a balloon expanding fast in her chest. It's not exactly a rare sensation, but she's not a very touchy-feely person either. So she can't say it's familiar. Still, once in a long while she'll meet someone who she just  _clicks_  with and can truly feel for them when they're in pain. Those window insights into empathy always bring her a glimpse of the magic of the universe. 

 

She swallows, bites her lip, and, on instinct, reaches up a hand to cradle the jut of his jaw. "I'm really sorry you went through that." 

 

"Thank you," Bellamy whispers, laying his own hand over hers for a moment. 

 

His chest rises with a deep breath before he continues. "I have a younger sister, Octavia. She was only twelve at the time. I doubt you know anything much about Child Protective Services - but let's just say they weren't thrilled to leave her with her eighteen-year-old unemployed brother."

 

Clarke presses herself into his side and squeezes him around his waist. She knows before he says it what's coming next. 

 

"She went into the system, lived with three different foster families. I think one of them hit her, but I've never been able to get her to say," he breaks off, breathing heavier. Clarke sees his fist clench on his thigh. Her throat's tightening as she pictures a younger version of him, scared, alone. Helpless. "It took me almost three years to convince them to let me have her back. I was working all these odd jobs to make enough money so they'd let me take O home and trying to do night school at Ark Community College. I wanted them to know I was good enough, that I was serious." 

 

Clarke wants to whisper to him that he is good enough, more than good enough. But she's too scared to. 

 

"I don't know," Bellamy's sigh ripples over the top of her head. "I guess I just wasn't focused on girls. The only thing that mattered was getting Octavia back. I fooled around with a few, don't get me wrong, but I just never," he trails off with a shrug. 

 

"That's ok," Clarke tries to soothe. "Do you know how many people would kill to have an older brother like you?" 

 

He smiles a little and pets her waist, which makes her hum. 

 

"Sorry to be such a downer. The story's got a decent ending. I met my friend Monty at Ark. He was taking some computer programming classes, and he introduced me to Miller through his girlfriend, Harper. Miller got me into law enforcement. Once I was an  _upstanding citizen_ and all that shit, the system finally said I could have O. It's been a rocky year, I won't lie. But I think she's starting to come around." 

 

"That's great!" Clarke cries, a smile splitting out across her mouth. She reaches up and kisses his cheek quickly. "I'm so happy for you!" 

 

Bellamy smirks at her overeager reaction. "Careful, I might get the wrong idea about you." 

 

Maybe it's the liquor flooding her veins that makes her brave. 

 

"What would the wrong idea be?" 

 

Bellamy hauls her back up into his lap, wide hands spanning her hips. He looks straight into her eyes.

 

"That you might actually like me a little." 

 

A pleasant rush of goosebumps jump up onto Clarke's skin. She tilts her head back playfully. "That depends." 

 

"On what?" he asks gruffly. 

 

"What you were studying before you became a cop." 

 

"Electrical engineering," he replies. "But I snuck in a Classics course because I needed something to escape into." 

 

"Nerd," Clarke jokes. But her voice is too full and fond for it to be taken seriously. 

 

"How about you?" Bellamy's hand slips up her ribcage, rubbing a thumb across her bare nipple. It's already hard and desperate for the contact. "What kind of art do you like?" She's not sure how he can do that - be sincerely inquisitive while pulling moans out of her with the way his palm grasps at her sensitive flesh. 

 

"I ... sketch. Charcoals mostly," she leans into the touch, bracing her own hand in the center of his chest for balance. "Portraits. Landscapes. Realism I guess you'd say." 

 

"That right?" Bellamy's twinkling eyes make him appear boyish. "I bet you're really good." 

 

"I'm ok," she chokes out when his hand returns to her ass. She rocks forward into him, desperate to remove his pants so she can get her hands on his cock. He feels nice and thick through the clothes separating them. 

 

"I bet you draw such pretty things, Princess," Bellamy starts stroking up and down her thighs, voice all velvet. He climbs higher and higher before dropping dramatically back to her knees, never getting anywhere near the aching apex of her thighs. "You're probably the best in your class. One day I'm gonna walk into some gallery and it'll be full of your work being bought up by rich people who know what bimorphic means--"

 

Her mind's still swirling around  _he knows what bimorphic means_ but her body lunges forward, capturing his lips with hers and burrowing her fingers into his hair. She loves the mild grating feel of her nipples sliding over his bronze skin. She's pretty sure she knocked the oxygen right out of him. But he kisses her back with enthusiasm, nipping at her lower lip until she opens for him and then taking his time exploring her mouth. His hand traces back and forth on the waistband of her bottoms, dipping tentatively against the curve of her ass cheek. Her cunt clenches in response, the best spasm, and she digs her knees into his sides. Bellamy draws his hand back immediately, breaking the kiss to look at her wide blue eyes. 

 

"Are you sure?" he says quietly. 

 

Clarke smiles at his hesitancy. She's not sure how she's going to tell him she wants him to pound her into the mattress. She's afraid she'll give him a heart attack. 

 

"Hey, Bellamy," she brushes a curl off his forehead. She likes his name rolling off her tongue. 

 

"Hmm?" 

 

"You think I'm attractive, right?" 

 

"Extremely." 

 

"And do I seem like a halfway decent person to you now?" 

 

He smirks. 

 

"You do." 

 

"Is there anything else you want to know?" 

 

He thinks about it a moment, tracing his fingers up her spine's bumps and ridges. 

 

"What makes you feel most alive?" he settles on. 

 

"Wow," Clarke splutters. "That's deep considering my breasts are in your face." 

 

He leans forward and sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his wet tongue around it. 

 

She hisses, fingers gripping his side and neck bending back. He draws back with a pop, clearly pleased with himself. 

 

"Answer the question, Clarke." 

 

"When I get to do art days at this elementary school. It's a volunteer thing my program puts together. The kids are always ... so happy ... to play with paints and create things. It's just this light, airy feeling to work with them. Like for a few hours, my problems aren't real." 

 

He kisses her, slower than before. Her eyelashes flutter open slowly when he's done. 

 

"What about you?" 

 

"I went camping a few weeks ago with O. It's not really my thing, not much of a survivalist." 

 

Clarke grins. 

 

"But she wanted to see the stars away from all the city lights and make s'mores and all that, so we went." 

 

"And did you find out you really liked the great outdoors after all?" 

 

"Yeah," Bellamy ducks his head at the teasing in her tone. "Something like that. It was just the stars were so bright, and everything seemed peaceful for once, you know? Like everything was how it was meant to be." 

 

"Kinda feels like that now," Clarke slots her fingers through his. 

 

"But isn't that kind of strange?" Bellamy manages through a moan as she works her hips against him. "We just met." 

 

"I think we should go with it," Clarke blurts out, locking her hands around his neck and starting to slide to the side, pulling him on top of her. She could ride him until he's boneless, sink down and take his cock deep inside her, show him how to rub against her g-spot and tease her clit. But she wants to feel small beneath him for some reason, wants the wall of his muscles all around her. 

 

Bellamy blinks down at her, still in some state of disbelief. 

 

"You're too damn beautiful, Princess," he murmurs to her. "Don't know how I got this lucky." 

 

Clarke tries to ignore the rose-cream blush staining her face and pops his jeans open instead, reaching inside to palm him through his boxers. Long and thick by the feel of it. 

 

"I could say the same thing to you," she husks. 

 

"God," he grits. "I want to fuck you, baby. I need to fuck you." 

 

"Here, let's get you out of these." 

 

She helps him yank his pants down, and then he's kicked them away. His fingers latch around the edges of her final piece of clothing, and he presses a kiss to her hipbone as he pulls them off. She opens her thighs to him a little when she catches him staring in mild awe. Clarke takes his wrist and brings his fingers to her slick folds. 

 

"See how wet I am for you?" she murmurs. 

 

"I see that," he returns, surprising her by dipping two fingers shallowly into her heat and bringing them up to his mouth. "You taste good, Princess. A sweet tang." 

 

Blazing heat pools in Clarke's bones, and she yanks him down by the neck until his mouth's crushed up against hers, no longer caring about breathing but only about chasing her taste in his mouth. A few moments later, she's helped work his dark boxers down his legs. There's just the painfully slow slide of his thick cock across her folds as he draws back. 

 

Clarke slides her hand around him, fingers not quite touching, and smears the precum pooling there over the red head with her thumb. "You're gonna fill me up so well, Bell," she gazes up at him from under her black lashes. "Can't wait to take you." 

 

"Shit," she feels him twitch in her palm and grins. "We need a condom--"

 

His eyes search the night stand frantically. She mewls when he shifts away to open the drawer and search for one as his warmth leaves in a rush.

 

"Thank God," he sighs, holding up a foil-wrapped square. 

 

Clarke half sits up, tucking her knees under her chin, her eyes appraising him. 

 

"What?" he immediately reads the change in her, brown eyes widening. "We can stop you know. I don't want you to do anything you'll regret--"

 

She shakes her head, fond. 

 

"That's not it." 

 

Bellamy frowns. 

 

"Oh. Ok. What then?" 

 

Clarke catches his hand and after a swift kiss to his jaw, slips right back under him, tugging him to follow with little hands on his waist. 

 

"I'm clean. Roan makes sure we get tested frequently to work here."

 

She jolts as a dark expression clouds his face. 

 

"It's not like that," she soothes. "More a precaution. I told you I've only done this twice here, and before that--it was just my high school boyfriend Finn a couple times." 

 

Bellamy grunts. She rubs her hand up and down his side in careful strokes. "I'm on the pill for obvious reasons, and since you haven't been with other girls..."

 

Bellamy's throat bobbles. 

 

"Be very clear, Princess. Crystal clear." 

 

"We don't need the condom, Bellamy." She lays back fully and opens her legs invitingly to his heavy gaze. "I want to know what it feels like to have you come inside me." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when you all were asking for me to write fluff, this probably isn't what you had in mind. But *shrugs*--- too late now. 

Bellamy groans. 

 

"If you don't stop talking like that, I'm not even going to make it," he warns. 

 

Clarke smirks cheekily at him, reaching the foil wrapper clenched in his fist and pulling it free. She flips it down to the end of the bed. 

 

"Nah, that won't be a problem with you. I can tell," she runs her hands up and down his shoulders and biceps in a sweeping motion. "You'll have stamina." 

 

Bellamy pushes his lips together and ducks his head, air hissing through his teeth. A mild pink is washing over his cheeks that she finds adorable. 

 

"You like me stroking your ego," she teases, rising up to kiss him swiftly and bringing his body weight back down on top of her, luring him in. He places a hand under her knee and hooks it up around his waist. 

 

"Wish you'd stroke something else, baby," he hums into her neck. 

 

"Point taken," she says, too breathy to be normal. 

 

He's hard on her thigh, stirring up a pleasantly painful ache between her legs every time he shifts a little. Clarke pushes him onto his side and reaches between their bodies, dropping a kiss to his collarbone before taking him back in hand. His length is hot in her hand, skin stretched tight and smooth and perfect as she strokes mildly. She bites her lip when he thrusts against her palm. She's sure it was involuntary. 

 

"Think that's funny, do you?" 

 

"Not at all," Clarke says mock seriously, opening up wide doe eyes. "Just happy to be effective." 

 

"You a troublemaker, Princess?" Bellamy reaches behind her and grips her ass, testing the flesh in his hand. "My little badass?"  

 

The motion undulates her forward, sending her folds sliding against the head of his cock. She might be dripping on the sheets at this point - it's obscene. But maybe he won't realize much if he gets  wrapped up in having sex for the first time. 

 

She bats her eyelashes at him, cupping his jaw with her free palm and kissing him slowly, allowing her hand to slip to his balls and lazily rub him there. "Just for you," she whispers. 

 

"Clarke--" is all he manages to get out before he's flipping her onto her back once more. He leans over her on his knees, and again she's struck by the sheer width of him. He could completely block her body with his, hide her from view, hold her down if he wanted to. 

 

She'll have to save that thought for later. But then she remembers that all they have is now. One of his calloused fingers slips into her slick, searching. It pulls her from her wayward thoughts. Bellamy fumbles for a moment, eyes on hers and breathing hard through his nose before he lands on her sensitive nub. 

 

"Yes, there," she purrs, widening her thighs to make it easier for him. She guides his free hand to her breast, which latches over it hungrily. He's lowered himself down to his elbows to stay balanced. It brings their faces close.

 

"Hey," he manages before sucking at the side of her neck, forefinger and thumb closing over her impossibly hard nipple. 

 

Clarke can only gasp back because the next moment, two of his fingers are pressing inside of her, sloshy and insistent. She's too far gone to be mortified. She's never wanted to be consumed by someone before. Bellamy siphons away the small beads of sweat on her chest with his tongue, continuing the thrusting into her heat but adding his thumb to press down firmly on her clit in passes. 

 

"God, that feels-- feels -- oooohh," Clarke pants when the tightening takes a sharper turn, becoming nearly unbearable. "How can you be so good at this?" 

 

Bellamy stops moving, raising an eyebrow at her. 

 

"I think I'm insulted?" his voice lilts up. 

 

"No no no no no," she shakes her head rapidly. "Don't be insulted. It's great. You're great. Keep going." 

 

He shrugs casually, sitting back up on his haunches to look over her heaving naked body. Her thigh muscles are strained with keeping herself in check, and her eyes are glassy and bright. 

 

"I don't know," he hedges. "You sound so surprised." 

 

Clarke huffs and rolls her eyes. "You're wasting time." 

 

Bellamy's eyes continue to drink her in, a slow and steady smolder that's setting her bones on fine. He starts stroking his cock leisurely, slicking himself up but still not doing anything. She drums her fingertips on the sheets impatiently. 

 

"Bellamy!" 

 

"Yeah, baby?" 

 

She sits up and pushes his curls off his forehead. Pursing her pink lips, she throws him a mischievous glance.

 

"Where are you going?" he's dumbstruck, maybe even annoyed, as she rises up from the bed. 

 

"No where far," she soothes, motioning for him to sit at the edge of the mattress. 

 

Bellamy's jaw actually falls open when she drops to her knees at his feet, nudging his knees apart. 

 

"I didn't mean to insult you," she says sincerely before leaning forward and licking his head into her mouth. 

 

"Clarke," he grunts, fingers instantly tangling into her blonde locks. "You didn't. You don't have to--"

 

But she's already sucking him deeper into her throat like she was born to do it, working her small hand around the base of him that doesn't fit into her mouth. He could come from the sight of her hollowed cheeks taking him in alone. It's heaven, her gently stroking his thigh and bobbing against him. When he hits the back of her soft palette she gags a little. He draws back his hips, loosening his clutch on her hair. Clarke nods her head, encouraging him to push further. He loves the slide of his dick over her tongue, the way she's lapping at the underside of him is sending lightning bolts of pleasure up his spine. Half a minute later, she's managed to swallow his whole cock - which is about to burst - down her throat. He's cooing nonsense at her:  _can't believe how amazing you are, you feel so good, this can't be real._

He doesn't know what the hell he's saying. Only that one of her hands is fingering herself, and it's the sexiest thing he's ever seen in his life. The other is scrambling at the skin of his hip and then he's clutching it securely in his and rubbing the tops of her fingers with his thumb. 

 

Clarke draws back with a gasp, wiping her spit from her lips. "You can come down my throat," she tells him seriously. 

 

He grits his teeth and hisses. She smiles when he rubs the back of her neck. 

 

"I wanna come inside you." 

 

Her smile widens. 

 

"Then let's do this." 

 

This time there's more urgency in their movements. They spend more time with their mouths locked together and their hands raising up goosebumps on each other. When Bellamy wraps his hand around his cock and nudges it toward her center, she takes a deep breath, angling her hips back to help him slide in. 

 

"A little at a time," she instructs. "I've got to get used to you." His smirk flashes over his face but then he's pushing inside her, stretching her open with an easy pace and watching his cock disappear into her pussy with pure awe on his face. 

 

She sucks in a sharp breath when he draws back and burrows in deeper. 

 

"Sorry," he apologizes instantly, sliding back out of her. It leaves her feeling hollow. "You ok?" 

 

Clarke nods, teeth digging into her lip until Bellamy tugs her bottom one free. He peppers a few kisses to her forehead, cheek and jaw before placing his tentative lips to hers. She kisses him reassuringly, coaxing his mouth open and lets her tongue dance over his. 

 

"You're thick, that's all," she explains. "It's an adjustment." 

 

"Oh." Puzzlement settles between his eyebrows. "What can I do to make it better?" 

 

"Can you give me three fingers to get ready for you?" She flushes to the roots of her hair when she asks. 

 

"'Course, baby. Whatever you want." 

 

Three of his fingers push her open without the painful burn, and she shows him how to glide over her clit in tight circles just the way she likes it. It doesn't take long for the feeling of the orgasm she's been on the brink of since they started to pulse low and insistent below her belly button and start to shimmer outward.

 

"I did that?" Bellamy asks the side of her collarbone. 

 

"Yeah," she cups his freckled cheek. "You did. Now--" she arches up into him, catching his dark pink head right at her opening. "I want you to fuck me." 

 

There's more lubrication when he pushes inside her this time, though his eyes stay trained on her face searching for signs of discomfort. She plays with the curves of his bicep to distract herself from the flooding warmth there. 

 

At first his movements are a little too jerky to build up a good momentum. It takes a number of thrusts for him to get the angle down. She winces once when he rubs too hard along her side wall, but just shakes her head when he tries to apologize. 

 

"It's ok. You just kind of got ... caught," she hitches. Her hands wrap around his hips and grind up into him, showing him how without saying a thing. 

 

Bellamy furrows his brow in determination. It's cute how he's trying so hard to please her. "You know you're goddamn near perfect, don't you?" he huffs, determining finally how he wants to move and committing to it. 

 

"No," she manages. A little moan slips from her when he unknowingly passes over her spongey tissue. "No one ever mentioned." 

 

"Well I'm mentioning it," his eyes flash dark, and she yanks him down by his neck for a sloppy kiss just as the head of him butts into her cervix, causing her to heavily twitch. 

 

"Ah. Good, yes. Like that," she closes her eyes, arching into his movements as he starts building a quicker, steadier rhythm.

 

 Soon all that can be heard is their panting as their bodies work them higher and higher. 


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke's beautiful underneath him, her hair streaming out every which way and her dark pupils expanding to swallow the blue of her eyes. Bellamy likes the cupid's bow of her mouth and the long line of her neck when she writhes. She's better than anything he could have pulled from his dreams. She's real, sweet and sassy, challenging and alive. Her scent surrounds him all vanilla spice and strawberry. Their bodies are overheated. His whole abdomen is sizzling with an energy he's never managed to achieve on his own. He wanted to last longer. He wanted to make it so good for her because she's been his angel tonight. As soon as he comes, it's over. He knows that. So he's holding off, drawing blood from his bottom lip with the effort.

When Clarke opens her eyes, she notices. Of course she does. Her hands fumble up and over his arms then down his chest, rubbing. 

"Let go," she encourages him. "Bellamy, let go." 

He growls low and throaty in response, drawing his hips back and thrusting hard into her tight, velvety channel. It's hugging him for everything he's worth. He can feel her cunt grabbing and gripping at him. If he never has another sexual experience, the memory of Clarke below him urging him on, telling him he's almost too big and moaning when his cock bottoms out against her cervix might just be enough. 

"Not til you come again," he nips at her earlobe. 

Against his will, he slows down his motions, leaving a sloppy kiss on her lips. It's more of their mouths just breathing against each other than anything else, but he doesn't think she cares. She looks as far gone as he feels. Her breasts are teasing him now, those ruby drops rising and falling against her flawless skin. He can't help but squeeze the malleable flesh in his hand. It's large and pale ivory and keeps shaking every time his cock pushes back between her wet folds. He's never felt so satisfied. 

"Your hands." She drops her own over his unexpectedly. The difference is striking enough he nearly comes right there but suppresses the shudder slicing through him. 

"What about them, Princess?" Is that his voice? It sounds strained and fraying. 

"The veins," she traces one down his middle finger the holds the base of his wrist while he continues playing with her.

"You like them, yeah?" 

"Mmm." He's not an expert, but he thinks she's watching him with lust from under her eyelashes. 

"I like your cock, too," she manages before her mouth's falling open in a whimper. Success. He found her g-spot on purpose. He rubs against it, back and forth, satisfied by her little hands pressing into his lower back as if to draw him closer.

"Please, Bellamy." 

"What?" he rasps, grasping onto her milky thigh and opening her wider. He moves onto his knees with shaky effort, but it's worth it to watch his cock disappear into the flushed pink of her, swollen and dripping for him. 

"Rub my clit. I'm so close. Please," she begs him. 

He doesn't think he'd ever be able to deny her anything she asked. The hood of her clit's all drawn back, leaving the nub throbbing and visible. At least he doesn't have to ask where it is. He swallows his smirk. 

"Whatever the hell you want." 

Twenty seconds later, her thigh is shaking and her pussy is practically choking his cock. This is it. He presses his palms into the sheets on either side of her body, fucking her through her climax and trying to soak in the moment. He did this to her. He's  _capable_ of doing this to her. He wants to do it again. But that particular thought has no place here. 

"Clarke, I have to--"

"I know," she's still trying to catch her breath. "I want you to." 

His balls tighten and his spine arches. For a moment, white flashes in front of his eyes. HIs dick has a mind of its own, filling her with more come than he's ever known it to produce before. Bellamy's hips are so used to the movement of rocking against hers, they keep it up for a few more thrusts until a small bit of his come starts leaking out of her onto the black sheets. 

"Ohh," he collapses in a heap, trying not to crush her. His nose seeks the sweetness of her hair all on its own. "Thank you. That was amazing." 

Clarke's grin is slow and strikingly feline. "I've never been thanked for sex before." 

"First time for everything." 

"True," she concedes, features pulling into a wince as he tries to pull out of her as gently as he can. 

He lays on his side, head seeking the pillow beside her. His fingers slip over her hip. Bellamy wants to pull her against him but is afraid to ask. That probably violates some unspoken rule of this whole arrangement. No cuddling after sex at The Dropship. He's sure that's a thing. Settling for stroking her cheek with his thumb, he psychs himself up to ask the only question which seems to matter. 

"Was that ok?" 

Clarke blinks at him, pretty and ... could it be shy? It's like she's looking too closely. He knows she won't like everything she finds inside him. 

"It was good," she says quietly, chin tucking into her chest. He doesn't want to consider what it means that she won't meet his eyes.  

Bellamy lets his hand fall away reluctantly.  _What the hell is wrong with him? This was an end-of-the-night fuck for her. A lesson, really. She'd had to teach him what to do, how to touch her and how to make her feel good. She probably didn't like that at all. It was part of her ... job._ That's the thing that makes his blood boil.  _Fuck it. She might think he's crazy, a client who let the experience get to his head, or worse, a virgin who latched onto the first girl he slept with._ But that's not it. He just can't leave this room with her thinking she was a toy to use for his pleasure.   

Limply, Clarke curves her body to face his, drawing her knees halfway up toward her chest. He has no idea what she's really thinking, and suddenly, it's driving him insane. 

"Clarke?" he asks lowly. In the dimness of the room, her hair shines. 

"Yeah?" She sounds small and sleepy. 

"Can I hold you?" 

Silence greets him. His heart starts hammering a rapid tattoo straight into his ribs. 

"You want to?"

He's baffled. A few hours ago, he never would have believed anyone like her could even exist. She feels like the answer to a question he didn't know he needed to ask. And now that he has her solid and real just a foot away, she thinks  _he doesn't want her?_

 _"_ Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, I do." 

"Ok," she says softly. 

She rolls over so her back is near his chest. He reaches a tan forearm around her waist slowly before pulling her back into his body. Her shoulders slump after a few moments, and as he leaves a swift kiss on the top of her head, her fingers start dancing up and down the plump veins of his hand once more where it rests on her belly. 

He thinks he might have been drifting off into sleep when the harsh knocking jolts him awake. 

"Clarke!" a woman's voice cries out. "It's Ontari! Time's up!" A hand rattles the locked doorknob. "Roan says you've got five minutes to get out here."  

"Shit," Clarke mutters, slipping away from him and shuffling toward the sink. 

He watches her reach for paper towels and dab herself between her legs. Bellamy was never one to believe much in caveman shit before, but as he catches a red-purple bite mark just north of her collarbone, he has a wild urge to mark her body fully.

"Get dressed, hurry up!" She says, breaking into his reverie. "You don't want Roan to break down the door."  

One of her legs is fighting its way back into her torn bottoms that leave heavy slices of her ass exposed. She can't go back outside like that. 

"Bellamy!" She calls out, louder this time. She shoots him a questioning look then picks up his shirt from the floor and flings it at him. "Get moving." 

She's struggling to put her top back on quickly. When she finally manages, she reaches for her hoodie, which somehow made it close to the spot by her shoes. 

"Wait," Bellamy stands up and pulls on his boxers and jeans hastily. Clarke almost hits him in the head with his socks and drops his boots unceremoniously at his feet before scurrying away to slink back into her mega heels. When he approaches her, he's still buttoning his shirt. He moves slowly, getting the impression that she's a jungle cat who could strike at any moment the way her limbs cut through the air. 

"Yeah? What?"

"Is that it?" 

Clarke tilts her head. He thinks he sees a flash of recognition coast over her eyes before it's gone. 

"You got what your friend paid for, didn't you?" 

It's not cold or even accusing, but it still feels like someone gutted him. He huffs out a lungful of air through his nose in one smooth motion, tongue clicking.

"Clarke," he lays a hand over the twitchy muscle above her elbow. He takes it as a positive sign when she doesn't yank herself out of his grip. "I want to see you again." 

"I'm here most Fridays and Saturdays," she mumbles, staring down at his hand. 

An involuntary chuckle escapes him. He's not sure if she's trying to be ironic or just avoid the electricity snapping between them. 

"That's not what I mean." He reaches behind her and strokes a few fingers along the back of her neck. "I want to go out with you." 

Clarke swallows audibly. She's already shaking her head. His heart might have fallen to his kidneys. 

"I can't do that," she glances up into his face briefly before looking away again. "It's ... not really allowed." 

"By Roan?" He rubs her soft skin more slowly, gratified when she hums. 

"We're on a tight leash." 

"I don't like that," he snaps. 

For one second, he thinks she might smile. But then it disappears. 

"You could come back here though," she says quietly, rubbing one of her feet over the over. "But you probably don't want to do that, right?" 

He meets her eyes, earth on sky. A silent understanding passes between them. If he does that, she really is a hooker. Only letting him touch her if he pays. 

"I don't think I could, Princess." 

"Oh. Ok." 

He opens his mouth, but the rapping at the door comes violently. It makes her jump back like a skittish dog. 

"We'll be out in a minute!" Clarke bellows, squaring her shoulders and taking a step backward, away from him.

"You're free to go," she gestures toward the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because you want to go gobble up other stories--
> 
> -the way we used to be  
> -roomfriends and other oxymorons  
> -a greater pursuit  
> -homesick (it's a bittersweet feeling)  
> -waste it on me


	7. Chapter 7

Clarke's heart is sinking faster than a lead ballon. The shots Atom poured her are fading fast. She feels shaky and a little sick. There's guilt and shame mixing together in a potent cocktail in her stomach because how can she look this beautiful man in the eye now? He'll see right through her frozen facade and try to thaw it with a silly joke or a quick flash of his white smile. She knew it would come down to this moment. It was her job to give him a good experience, so he'd return to The Dropship and bring friends when he did. But it felt so different with him that for a few minutes there, she'd forgotten she was his hooker for the night. Roan preferred to use the term "sex worker" during employee meetings. But honestly? Fuck Roan too. There was nothing in his rules about what to do if you felt something for the client. You just weren't supposed to. She thought she'd let Bellamy have his fun with her - Roan would drive a spear through him if he knew there had been no condom - and then he would be on his way into the night. She wasn't expecting an offer for anything else beyond these four walls. She doesn't understand how he can take this for anything other than what it is at face value - none of the other guys did. Though she didn't want to burrow into their chests when the sex was over, either. 

Bellamy makes no move to walk toward the door at her words. He watches her, warm and focused, instead. Clarke has a desperate urge to bite her fingernails under the scrutiny but doesn't give in to it. He takes a measured step closer. Her whizzing mind tries to calculate the number of inches between her chest and his. Eleven? Fourteen? No matter what, he's definitely in her bubble. 

"Um, what are you doing?" she tries for calm. "I just said you could leave." 

Why is he still standing here? She plays with the cool metal of her zipper, tugging it back up to her chin. She's trying not to feel humiliated, fighting back tears. If she met him at a party or in class, she would have teased him walking down cracked sidewalks, eaten pizza in a booth with him and sketched the veins in his hands. She would know what it was like to sit in his car, truck? - yeah, he probably owns a truck - and fiddle with the music until he yelled at her that he made the rules about music because he couldn't listen to her pop trash. She would have kissed him hard in back alleys behind bars and asked him to come with her to the lake during spring break. It all flashes by so easily in her mind that she almost believes in it. 

"I don't want to leave," Bellamy cocks his eyebrow up at her, daring her to argue with him. 

"Why not?" 

Bellamy smiles, gaze almost tender on her face. 

"Because I don't want it to end here. Let's go somewhere and get a coffee or something."

She makes a face. 

"Or tea? Hot chocolate? Some sugary thing with too much whipped cream? Whatever you want," he reads her correctly. 

Her heart throbs in her throat, making it hard to draw in air. He glances down at her hand curling at her side but doesn't reach for it. 

"But how?" she asks softly. 

Bellamy frowns. "What do you mean how?" 

"How can you look at me like that after--" she gestures up and down her body "knowing what I do?" 

It's never been like this before. Nobody's ever looked at her like she could be more. Like they saw past the show, the hot lights and music, the makeup and glitter and breakneck stilettos. She's always been a cheap slut to everybody else.

Bellamy's jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow in anger. She didn't realize she said that last part out loud.

"That's  _not_  who you are," he tells her emphatically. 

"Then who the hell am I?" It comes out harsher than she means it to. It's not his fault she's here, doing this. She shouldn't take it out on him.  

Bellamy's dark eyes jump to life. He doesn't seem upset at all. He draws closer to her, this time wrapping a hand around her waist. His kiss to her forehead is dry and swift before he moves his lips to her ear. 

"You're  _Clarke_ ," he begins. "You're an artist. You're confident. You like teaching kids. You're smart enough to go to med school. You know what it's like to lose someone you really loved. You can put up with my bullshit, and--" his palm on the small of her back pushes her a little closer to him. She doesn't think, just wraps her arms around his middle. "You're the sexiest girl I've ever seen dance."

She snorts against his chest, trying not to blubber. "I'm probably like one of four girls you've ever seen dance." 

"Not true," he laughs drily, rubbing her back. "Miller's dragged me to a few of these kind of places." 

The slamming at the door comes again. Clarke pulls away reluctantly, swirling around to face the noise. 

"Just give us one goddamn minute, Ontari!" she yells. 

"One minute or I'm getting Roan," the other girl snaps back. 

When Clarke's eyes find his, she knows she's blushing because her skin's starting to burn. "I'm glad he brought you here." 

Bellamy's numb for a moment, and she panics, thinking she exposed herself too much. But then he tugs her back into his arms and kisses her gently, nibbling at her lip until she tilts her neck back and opens her mouth to him. 

"Let me get you home safe at least, ok?" he pants out a glowing eternity later. "It's late. I don't want you going alone." 

She scoffs despite her dreamlike state, waving a hand through the air. She needs to put some distance between them, or she's going to topple him back onto the bed and ride him for real.

"I've done it a hundred times. The trains are still running. I'll be fine." 

"Please? I'd feel better if--"

A key rattles in the door and then it's being thrown open. Roan fills the doorway completely, hair half pulled back and eyes wild. 

"Clarke!" He snaps his fingers at her, urging her forward. "What the hell's going on? Ontari says you wouldn't come out." 

Bellamy steps in front of her, and she can't believe that she's letting a relative stranger shield her from her employer. The action shifts Roan's attention to him. He steps fully into the room.

"I like your friend, Miller," he tells Bellamy. "But that doesn't mean you're above my rules. Did anything happen?" he looks pointedly at Clarke, cracking his knuckles and walking forward swiftly. "Because someone spilled red wine all over the carpets out there, and I'd love to punch out some of my frustrations." 

"Jesus, no! Don't touch him!" Clarke leaps in front of Bellamy suddenly. His arm flies around her waist to drag her back, but she shakes him off, glowering at Roan. "He didn't hurt me!"

"I would  _never_ hurt her," Bellamy growls. He steps up beside Clarke and loosely brushes the backs of his fingers against hers. It sends a happy zing through her body. She lets him intertwine them. 

Roan shakes his head like a dog ridding himself of fleas. His widening eyes take in the sight unfolding before him. 

"Oh, you're not serious!" he snarls. 

"What?" Clarke grips Bellamy's hand tighter, and he squeezes back. 

"You're not here to fall for the guys I pay you to fuck," he says nastily. "You," he nods his chin aggressively at Bellamy. "It's time for you to go. I need to deal with her." 


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm not going anywhere," Bellamy glares back at Roan. If anything, he shifts closer to her. The musk lingering on his skin oddly comforts her. 

"Bellamy," she says softly, pulling down on his arm through their clasped hands. "It's all right. You don't have to stay." 

"Well I'm sure as hell not leaving you with him," he gestures disgustedly toward Roan like he's a felon. 

"I'm her boss, asshole," Roan retorts, crossing his arms over his expansive chest. "I pay her bills. She's known you for an hour. Think about it," he taps his head. "My girls will say whatever it takes to get guys like you feeling good. So why don't you go have a drink?" he nods at the door. "Catch up with your friends?"

Clarke shoots murder eyes at Roan, but he's not even watching her. She hopes Bellamy doesn't think it was all an act.  

"I don't want a drink." 

Clarke feels the danger swirling in the air, hanging thick and tight around the men as they size each other up. 

"Fine," Roan says tartly, turning on a dime. "You came her for sex, and that's what you got. The exchange is over. Now get the hell out of my club!"

Bellamy releases her hand and takes a few steps closer to Roan so they're practically nose to nose. No, no, no. This isn't good. Clarke springs forward and jams her body between theirs, holding out her arms wide, so Bellamy doesn't do something stupidly ridiculous like strike her boss. 

"Bellamy, it's fine. I'm fine," she widens her sapphire eyes at him and lets Roan catch her arm. 

Bellamy makes an immediate noise of protest. 

"Let's go, Clarke!" Roan snaps with authority, guiding her out the door. "Have a great night, Romeo!" he calls over his shoulder. She doesn't even get a last glimpse at the dark-haired man before Roan starts pushing her steadily down the hall. 

*

Clothes. She needs her real clothes. Street clothes, the girls who work here would call them. Clarke's rifling through her locker, hands flying around the mess in there like scrambling white spiders. Eventually, she tugs out a knotted up pair of jeans and a cranberry long-sleeved blouse, along with an actual normal set of bra and panties. They're black but very simple, narrowly edged with lace. It's kind of weird how someone as non-showy as her about her wardrobe got into this line of work. In the background, Roan's pacing back and forth, rambling. She stopped listening about two minutes ago when he'd nodded at her request to put on some actual clothes. She's growing angrier - and more nervous - each second she can't get back to Bellamy.

"There are rules for a reason, Clarke!" Roan's saying now, raking his hand through the underside of his hair. "We're creating a fantasy experience here. You know you don't go getting tangled up with any of the clients and trying to make it real. Guys who like you get jealous. They'll start hanging around, making trouble, keeping other paying customers away when you dance. I can't have that." 

"Well, maybe I'm not so good at following the rules!" she whirls around and fixes Roan with a look fit to shatter glass. 

Roan scoffs. "You're my best moneymaker, Clarke. You've come a long way since we started training you! Remember when you could barely even walk in your heels?"  

Clarke tries to keep herself calm. 

"It's late, and I'm tired. You asked me to sleep with him. I slept with him. I'm going home." She tries to shove past him, but he catches her with an arm across her stomach, blocking her path. 

"He's just a guy off the street, Clarke. Don't waste all your potential here on some douchebag with  _freckles."_

She sees red. Well, more specifically, she sees tan skin stretching across strong shoulders peppered with dark brown marks. 

"I like him!" Clarke hisses between her gritted teeth, wrenching away from his grasp. 

"Well you can't have it both ways, Princess," Roan's cool fingers stroke along her jaw. "It's him or the job - I'll give you until the end of the weekend to choose." 

"You're horrible," Clarke mutters, hurrying away.

"I'm running a business here!" he calls out after her. "You signed a contract! You're getting all bent out of shape, and I bet you he's not even out there waiting for you!" 

She lets the door slam behind her before practically sprinting to the bathroom to change, angrily brushing off a few stray tears dripping from her lashes. 

*

It turns out Roan was wrong. When she enters the crushed velvet upholstered lobby with her purse slung over her shoulder and her hair high up in a swishy ponytail, Bellamy's leaning against a wall by the door, hands deep in his pockets. She thinks he's handsome - with those curls that won't quite stay in place and a body lined with muscles that give him a strong sense of presence. He's also all in black, something that didn't really register with her before. Paired against the glass door leading outside, he reminds her of some sort of guard against the night. Suddenly, the same sense of nervousness she felt when she first approached him overtakes her. Maybe the thrill of her will fade for him now that she's not in the sexy outfit trying to seduce him by dragging his head into her cleavage. The short memory of their past heightens in embarrassment in this moment in a way that's difficult to swallow.  

"Hi," she says quietly, blinking at him. She's sure she can't keep all the surprise from showing on her face. 

"Hi, yourself," he grins at her, and just like that, the tension breaks. "So you decided to take me up on that tea-slash-hot chocolate -slash -anything that's not coffee?" 

"Sounds like one hell of a drink," Clarke teases. 

Bellamy holds the door open for her. The city is quiet. It's a little after midnight, and a cool wind is blowing a stray plastic bag down the street. The sidewalk is lined with cherry blossom trees, yet only a few of them are starting to bud tiny bursts of mint green. Bellamy must capture the delicate shiver that runs through her frame because a few seconds later, his leather jacket is being held out for her to stick her arms into. It rests heavy and complete around her shoulders, locking his body heat to her. 

"Thanks," she murmurs, bashful. 

He just winks and holds out his hand for her to take. It's rough but comforting like she remembered when she grasps it. For a while the only sound Clarke hears is their footsteps on the pavement, walking steadily farther from The Dropship. 

"So, uh--" Bellamy rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and throws a nervous glance at her. "Where would you like to go?" 

"It's really late. Most places are closed," she reasons. 

"Not all places," his eyes twinkle. 

Clarke raises a questioning eyebrow. Bellamy simply picks up the pace - he must be chilly she thinks with a pang as she takes in the thin state of his dark shirt - and smiles again at her like she's something special. 

"How do you feel about all-night diners? I know a good one that's just a few blocks away." 

"I don't think I've ever been to one," Clarke answers honestly, suddenly thankful she'd traded out her ridiculous shoes for comfortable flats. The blisters alone were a good reason to quit working the stage. 

Bellamy actually stops moving. Their connected hands almost jerk him forward when she continues to walk, not realizing it. She laughs lightly when she sees he's placed a hand over his heart as he stares at her in wonder. 

"What? Is that really so hard to believe?" 

"I'm offended on behalf of everyone who's ever worked a night shift." 

"I see." 

"You gotta understand--this is blasphemy to a cop, Clarke." 

"Oh," she nods sagely. "Do they have doughnuts there then?" 

They make a left down Phoenix Street, passing a bicycle shop and a Mexican restaurant with sombreros in the window display. 

"Maple cream, blueberry glaze,  _and_  one covered with Oreo crumbs and stuffed with peanut butter, thank you very much." 

Clarke crinkles her nose. 

"That doesn't sound that great." 

"You haven't lived yet," Bellamy says solemnly. "But don't worry, I'm about to show you a whole new world." 


	9. Chapter 9

Gaia Cafe is indeed a whole new world. A pleasant chime sounds when Bellamy holds the door open for her, and Clarke suddenly walks straight into the 1950s. Cozy, oversized booths for two line the walls colored hunter green with a triangular patch running down each side showing faded pastel roses. The floor's green and white checked, and the well-polished counter has a row of seats that she secretly hopes can spin. Warm lantern-like lights hang along the wall at intervals. The paintings are soft and idyllic - crumbling ancient ruins on hilltops, seagulls flying over breaking ocean waves, and moody red-orange canyons running jaggedly out of sight around the bends of waterfalls. 

It's gorgeous. Her eyes sweep over every corner, and a smile plays at her mouth. She didn't realize Bellamy was watching her until he clears his throat. 

"You like it?" 

"It's all right." But her tone is so far from casual that Bellamy's answering laugh comes back rich and vibrant. 

"Glad to hear it." 

"Hi, Officer Blake," a friendly older woman with straight brown bangs across her forehead waves from behind the counter. "Didn't expect to see you in tonight." 

"I keep telling you to call me Bellamy, Vera." He shoots the woman a smile half affection and half charm and leads Clarke over to her. 

She waves the cloth she was using to wipe down the counter around mildly in the air. 

"It's hard to refer to a uniformed officer by his Christian name." 

"I'm not in a uniform tonight," he winks at her. 

"I can see that," she nods in Clarke's direction. "I also see you brought a friend this time." 

"A good friend," Bellamy tells her. Clarke feels her stomach swoop at the words. "Vera Kane, this is Clarke Griffin. Clarke, this is Vera's diner. I've been coming here ever since I became a cop. She makes the best Boston cream pie you've ever had." 

Vera blushes. 

"Oh enough of that!" She stretches out her hand over the counter for Clarke to take. "It's a pleasure to meet you, dear." Her eyes soften as she takes in the way Bellamy beams. "I worry about this one, you know. Lots of late hours, stakeouts. He throws himself into dangerous situations--"

"It's my job, Vera."

She purses her lips. "Even so, it's nice to see you having some fun." 

"All right, all right," Bellamy interrupts, tips of his ears reddening. 

"I'm sorry, don't mean to embarrass you," Vera straightens up behind the counter. "Go find a place to sit and enjoy your date. I'll be with you in a minute." 

Despite the late hour, the diner is still pretty busy. Vera seems understaffed, for as soon as they walk away, she bustles toward a middle-aged woman wearing scrubs to refill her coffee before making her way toward a table of what look like college kids from Arkadia University. 

"She likes you a lot," Clarke observes as she slides into an empty booth near one of the wide windows halfway along the wall.

Bellamy shrugs. "I talk to her when I drop by after shifts sometimes. She likes the gas station hold up stories." 

Clarke bites her lip and picks up the big, folding menu in her hands, half-happy to hide her frown behind it. She's known him for only a couple hours and the idea of him being in a dangerous situation already twists her insides. She clears her throat.

"So what's good here beside the doughnuts?" 

There's a pause and then Bellamy's tan fingers curl over the top of her menu, dragging it down so he can see her face. Clarke tries not to fidget too much when his eyes meet hers. 

"How does breakfast sound?" 

"Perfect." 

"You trust me to do the ordering?" 

Clarke shrugs and raises up a palm. "This is your favorite spot." 

When Vera reaches Bellamy and his new girl with a notepad in hand, she almost hates to interrupt them. They're leaning close toward each other across the table, whispering a few words here or there she can't catch and throwing meaningful glances back and forth like they're telepathic. Their body language is in sync enough that anything she does feels intrusive.  

"Ahem," she offers. "What'll it be, kids?" 

Bellamy reaches for Clarke's menu, which she hands to him seamlessly before turning back to Vera. 

"The stack of blueberry pancakes please, chocolate chip crepes, vegetable omelet with the extra sausage and fruit, two waters, a camomile tea, one decaf coffee with cream and--" he glances at the glass dessert case, "do you have the Boston cream pie?"

"I'm out, hun, sorry. But the carrot cake was made fresh today. You want a slice of that?" 

Bellamy's eyes sparkle at the suggestion, and Clarke can't help the small laugh that escapes her.

"What?" he blinks at her. She looks more sleepy under the bright lights than she did in The Dropship. There are faint purple lines under her eyes, but her mouth twitches at him. He wants to fall asleep with her in his arms tonight. He quickly shakes the idea away and settles for reaching for her hand across the table instead. She's wearing a watch now that she wasn't earlier - it's got a black band and a smart silver spin-dial face. Clarke squeezes his fingers comfortingly. 

"Nothing ... just ... who's going to eat all that?" 

Bellamy bites his bottom lip. "You'll have leftovers." 

"Ok," she smiles. And then, as an afterthought - "I do like carrot cake." 

Bellamy turns back to Vera. "One slice of the carrot cake too please." 

"You got it!" Vera tucks her pencil behind her ear. "Give me a few extra minutes, ok? I'll get it out as soon as I can." She glances around the glow of the diner. "We just got slammed by the late-night folks coming off shifts at the hospital, and one of my waitresses recently quit." 

"That's fine," Bellamy says. "We've got time." 

She pats his shoulder and lingers another moment, watching their hands. 

"You ok?" Bellamy asks her. 

"Oh," she seems to shake herself from her daze. "I'm fine. It's nothing. I'm just happy to see you looking happy for a change." 

Clarke nudges the tip of her shoe into Bellamy's calf the moment she's gone. He's already groaning before she speaks. 

"Why weren't you happy before?" 

"Clarke, don't try to change the subject." 

"What's the matter, Blake? Can't take the heat?" 

"I can take it just fine," he grunts, reaching his hand out to capture her calf securely in his free hand. She tilts forward with a squeak. A pleasant fissure of sparkling heat flies up her leg. Bellamy slowly rubs the muscle there, working his way down until he pops her ballet flat off and leaves her socked foot in his lap. At least the side of the tablecloth will block people from noticing. 

"What about Roan?" he asks again. 

"I told you," she gives up and slips off her other shoe before bringing her foot up. Two can play this game. She nudges at his groin with her toes. Bellamy grips the edge of the table hard. "I'll deal with Roan later. He's made a lot of money off me already. I'm sort off," she twirls a bit of flyaway hair behind her ear, "a big deal down there because I can actually work the pole. Maybe you noticed?" She arches up an eyebrow innocently and pads her toes into his dick again, feeling it respond with satisfaction. 

"I don't want you losing your job over me, Clarke." His hand comes down to clasp her ankles and stop her shenanigans. "Not if you want to keep it to get through school." 

Clarke takes a moment to stare out the clean window. All the shop windows are dull and dark across the street. She shrugs, wishing her whole body was back in his lap instead of just her feet. "Maybe he'll chill out when he finds out you're a cop." 

Bellamy looks contemplative for a moment. "His license is only for the strip club part of it. Miller got involved in an issue with him a while back. All the uh..." he rubs the back of his neck. 

Clarke rests her elbow on the table and leans in, chin between her fingers, "prostitution?" she whispers. "Is that the word you're looking for?" 

"You're not a--"

Clarke shrugs. "I kind of am. But we prefer the term sex workers these days." 

Bellamy's only response is to press soothing circles against her ankles. 

"Either way, we could bust him for it, but the way I met you makes it," 

"Less than ideal for you to be the one to do that. Yeah I get it. Pot meet kettle," Clarke supplies for him. 

"Basically," he grimaces. 

"Hey, it's ok. Don't worry about it. It's my mess. I'll figure something out." 

"But I want to help you." 

Clarke interlocks their fingers, absorbing his heat. 

The food is a towering pile of madness across their table, yet Clarke loves every bite. The crepes are light and melt in her mouth, while the sausage tastes like it came straight from a farmers' market. Her stomach is protesting the last bite of pancake though it was too good to pass up, all buttery soft and delightful. 

Bellamy's still laughing into his coffee about the story she just told him where she dared her childhood friend Wells to stick a blueberry up his nose, and it got so stuck they had to get it removed at urgent care. 

"You're a deviant, Princess," he tells her as she brings her mug of tea to her mouth. 

"Only for you." 

There's that twitch of his cock under her toes again. 

"Why the chamomile?" she asks mostly to distract from the way his pupils are causing expanding blackness across his irises. 

"My mom used to make me some to help me sleep. You seemed tired." 

Clarke smiles again - her cheeks might even hurt a little from all of it she's been doing tonight - and stares down into her lap. 

"Aren't you thoughtful, Blake?" 

"Sometimes," his voice has a drop of arrogance back in it. It sparks something in her chest. 

Though she argues about the bill, he insists on paying the whole thing. They bid Vera goodnight, and Bellamy tucks Clarke back into his side, slipping an arm around her waist as they walk the three blocks to the train station. He does his best to shield her from the cold. Before she knows it, they're in the too-lit lobby where a janitor is sweeping up and takes little notice of them. 

Clarke glances up at the digital display board. Her train is coming in four minutes. 

Bellamy stands before her, hands buried in his pockets, shuffling from foot to foot. She wonders if he even realizes he's doing it. 

"I'm glad I met you tonight," he tells her. 

An easy, rolling joy sings through her system. "Me too." 

"So you think you might want to see me again?"

She's surprised to find hesitation clouding his friendly eyes. Clarke pretends to contemplate it before reaching right into his jacket pocket - she's wearing it again, after all - where she watched him store his phone earlier and adding her number. She turns it around with a flourish, and he gives her a goofy smile when he notices she put the crown emoji next to her name. 

"So you won't forget me." 

Bellamy reaches out and swipes that same bit of bang back behind her ear, touch feather light but one she's desperate to lean into. 

"I could never forget."  

Clarke swallows hard. There's too much space between them. She suddenly feels very shy and distracts herself by handing him back his jacket. 

"Well, goodnight Bellamy." 

"'Night, Clarke." 

"Thanks for the midnight snack." 

He brushes off the gratitude. "It was my pleasure." 

"Thanks for, uh--"

"Taking your virginity?" 

He blushes a rosy peach. It makes him seem so boyishly handsome. "You're a menace." 

"But you like it." 

He says nothing to contradict her. They're still staring at each other five full seconds later. Bellamy makes to step forward but then seems to think better of it and runs a hand over the back of his neck instead. 

Clarke finally bridges the gap, stepping up against him and stroking her palm over his abs. 

"You've already seen me naked tonight," she hums. "You can kiss me." 

"Well," his Adam's apple bobbles. This close she smells the spice of him again and sees all the stubble around his jaw. "That was part of your job, technically." 

A flash of sadness rises up through her at this barrier between them. The difference between fantasy and reality it might take them a while to sort out. If he gives her more time that is. She eyes the departure board again. Two minutes until her train leaves. Clarke stretches up to her full height, straightening her spine. At least it pushes her breasts out. Bellamy's gaze drops momentarily before he locks back on her face. 

"Then let me leave you with no doubt this is what I want." 

She pulls him closer by the sides of his jacket swiftly before surging up to swallow his tiny huff of surprise right into her mouth. 

"Fuck it," she murmurs against his lips a few dazed moments later. Her lips are pleasantly swollen. All she wants is to taste him again and to feel his hands on her hips anchoring her to the ground for as long as he wants to leave them there. 

"What?" Bellamy presses his forehead into hers. 

"Come home with me." 


	10. Chapter 10

"Huh?" 

Bellamy's eyes flicker open slowly. There is no way in hell he heard her correctly. But Clarke's staring straight up at him. Half a smile tugs up the corner of her lip. His mind is a buzzing blank, white and fuzzy. Then a fresh gust of wind spikes up around them as a man hurries past and flings open the door leading outside. Bellamy rubs his hands up and down her arms to stifle the shiver coursing through her without thinking much about it. She softens her shoulders. 

"Come home with me," she catches his hand and gives it a squeeze. "I want you to." 

His expression is all bemusement. 

"You do?" 

"Please don't make me say it again," Clarke grumbles, glancing up  at the board. "Oh." Horror dawns on her face.   

Whatever thought she has seems to hit her like a high-speed collision. She's biting her lip in that way he's quickly coming to love. "Sorry," she sighs and lets his hand drop listlessly to his side. "I'm an idiot. Good night." 

She rushes for the turnstile at lightning speed, digging her metro pass out of her purse and sliding it through the silver reader. The cranking noise of her pushing past it sparks him back to life.  

"Clarke!" he yells, running after her, but she doesn't turn around. "Shit," he curses in search of his own metro card as he flicks through his wallet. He can see her blonde ponytail bobbing halfway down the quiet platform. Her foot's tapping impatiently while she waits for the train. Finally, he finds the card and shoves through the annoying metal barrier. His feet pound on the old tiles below. "Clarke! Wait!" 

The rush of air and growing noise from the oncoming train drowns his voice. The sleek beast of a machine flies out from the tunnel, rippling his hair. Bellamy watches with a heart thumping like mad in his ears while Clarke hops inside the nearest compartment. He flings himself through behind her seconds before it closes. He's a little out of breath, clutching at his side. 

Her blonde head flies up to take him in. She's sitting in a bench seat that can fit two, and a moment later, he's collapsed into the seat beside her. 

"Bellamy!" Her fingers find the edge of the jacket he'd slipped back on. He glances down at them before returning his eyes to her questioning ones. 

"You ran before I could say yes. You just caught me by surprise." He senses his shoulders starting to soften at the exact same speed the tension leaves hers.

"Oh," is all she says. "Sorry."  

He drapes an easy arm over her shoulders. The train is a little too bright, and he doesn't particularly like the looks of the man sitting diagonally across from them. Clarke rests her pink cheek on his shoulder. 

"It's totally fine, Princess. Am I still invited?" 

"'Course," she snuggles into him, her exhaustion finally winning out. "Tell me a story." 

He laughs drily and stretches out his legs in front of them. "What about?" 

"You'll think of something." 

"First tell me which stop is yours." 

"The fifth one from here," she mumbles. Even her lips grazing his skin through cotton sends spiking happiness through his blood. "Alpha Station." 

"Cool," he murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of her head. Clarke throws her arm lazily across his waist. He's never been more thrilled to be a human pillow. 

The dark, silent world beyond the smudged windows flicks by. Bellamy wracks his brains for a good story. He thinks back to a few he used to whisper to Octavia as a kid when she complained to him that her dolls with their big eyes seated on a bedroom shelf were creeping her out after watching a horror movie. His sister was a fan of all the classical myths, just like him. A few minutes into a spellbinding tale about Hercules or Orpheus, and she was out like a light. 

Bellamy lets his fingers play with the tips of Clarke's ponytail. She hums approvingly. 

"Can I tell you a myth?" he whispers into her ear, keeping one watchful eye on the guy across from them who seems to be unloading an entire fast food meal from a black garbage bag. 

"Yeah." 

Bellamy clears his throat. 

"A very long time ago a king and queen ruled over an unnamed city with three beautiful daughters. The youngest, Psyche, was so beloved that men stopped worshiping the goddess Aphrodite to make offerings to her instead. She reminds me a lot of you, to be honest."

Clarke smirks against his shirt. "You're ridiculous, Bellamy." 

"I'm being honest." 

"Whatever." 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. 

"Aphrodite was jealous of so many men admiring Psyche that she sent her son Cupid to shoot her with an arrow so she'd only fall in love with something hideous.

"How was he gonna do that?" Clarke quirks up an eyebrow. "Black magic?" 

Bellamy stutters in mock offense. "Even you know Cupid is the master of love, Princess." 

"A naked guy in a loin cloth taking aim at people? A likely story."

"Anyway--Cupid accidentally scratched himself with his own dart, which made whomever it struck fall in love with the first thing he or she saw. So he fell in love with Psyche." 

"Of course. Another man bites the dust." Clarke presses her small palms into his abdomen and props herself up, batting her eyelashes at him in jest. 

Bellamy steals a quick kiss from her before continuing. "Do you want to hear this or not?" 

"I do. I do." Clarke schools her face into earnestness and cuddles back against him. 

"Psyche's older sisters got married and as time went by, her parents became concerned she'd angered the gods in some way because she hadn't found a husband yet. So her father consulted the oracle of Apollo for guidance." 

"Long live the patriarchy," Clarke grumbles. 

Bellamy laughs and strokes up and down her spine. 

"It was thousands of years ago, baby. They weren't evolved yet." 

Clarke snorts but returns to drawing mindless patterns across his stomach with her fingers. 

"The oracle told the king to expect a dragon beast for a son-in-law vicious enough to scare those living in the underworld. Scared to tempt fate, Psyche's parents brought her to a rocky mountain, and the west wind blew her up to meet her match in a meadow where she fell asleep. When she woke up, she found a huge house with golden columns and jeweled floors."

"I don't believe in fate," Clarke interrupts. 

Bellamy's thumb brushes against her cheek. "I might." 

"Psyche is brought to a dark bedroom, and she can't see her husband but she is very ... uh, happy, with their nights together. He always leaves before dawn and forbids her to look at him."

"You're such a guy," Clarke chuckles. "Let me guess - she gets pregnant, right?" 

Bellamy lets his fingers play under the skin of her shirt at her hip. "Right. Cupid allows the wind, Zephyr, to carry Psyche's sisters up the mountain for a visit. But they get really jealous of all her wealth and convince her to figure out who her husband is by reminding her the oracle said she'd marry a monster." 

"Women can be such bitches," Clarke sits up properly and leans back into the partition separating them from the next train compartment. "If beauty loves the beast, let her be happy. Who's to judge what goes on between two people?" 

Bellamy leans his head to one side and considers her. "Good to know." 

She purses her lips and shoves at his side, making him laugh at the unexpected tickling sensation. "You're far from ugly, so don't even." 

He runs his hand through his hair to shake off the nervousness that pulses through him when she looks at him like that. Like he's the only person she can see. It's almost ...  _adoringly_  in this moment, and he hasn't done anything to earn that kind of attention. 

"Can I finish the story or not?" 

"Please," Clarke says tartly, glancing up at the digital screen that checks their progress along the route. "We still have a few minutes." Across from them, fast food guy is bopping along to whatever's coming out of his headphones and squeezing a packet of ketchup straight into a carton of fries. Bellamy shakes his head at the guy, and Clarke smirks at his reaction, rubbing his knee. "It's fine," she mouths quietly. 

A moment later, Bellamy gives a half shrug and continues. 

"Her sisters' constant jabs got to Psyche, and one night she crept up on her sleeping husband with an oil lamp and knife in her hands. She expected to see a monster, but the lamp revealed an attractive man instead. Shocked, she wounds herself on one of Cupid's arrows in his quiver and spills hot oil on him. He runs away, and though she chased him, she couldn't reach him." 

"Tragic," Clarke's blue eyes widen at him. 

"It  _is,"_ he tells her, interlocking their fingers.

"Well... come on. What happened next?" 

"Psyche roams the wilderness looking for her lost love. She wanders into the temple of Demeter and straightens up the offerings left there, making the goddess appear. Psyche begs for help, but Demeter tells her she can't go against Aphrodite." 

"Naturally." 

Bellamy inclines his head and looks at the sleepy girl suddenly a little more awake. "Naturally."  

"Psyche knows she must turn herself over to Aphrodite in her palace and beg for her lost love, but the goddess just has her whipped and gives her pointless tasks to drive her crazy."

"Like what?" 

"Like sorting impossibly large amounts of beans and seeds into piles or getting golden wool from violent sheep." 

"Sounds like fun." 

"The best kind." 

Clarke laughs. 

"In the myth, the audience knows Cupid is actually recovering from his injuries in the palace, but Psyche doesn't know. Her last task is to take a box to the underworld and catch in it the beauty of its queen because Aphrodite feels her beauty is waning." 

"Who would ever believe this stuff?" Clarke shakes her head. 

"Whole empires built around it, Princess." 

"Common sense is not that common." 

Bellamy ignores her with a wave of his hand. 

"Surprisingly - for the Greeks anyway - the queen of the underworld grants the request and Psyche leaves with the box. But she can't resist opening it to enhance her own beauty and finds something that sends her into a deep sleep." 

"How very Aurora-esque." 

Bellamy stiffens, and Clarke glances at him, eyes narrowing in concern. 

"What is it?" She shifts closer. 

"Nothing," he shrugs. "That was just my mom's name." 

Clarke presses her lips together in silent understanding and soothes her fingers through his hair for several long seconds. 

"Story's got a decent ending," Bellamy says after a pause. 

Clarke smiles. "Let's hear it." 

"Cupid's burn wounds heal, and he escapes his mother's house and finally finds Psyche. He draws out the sleep from her body and travels straight to Zeus to plead his case to be with the woman he loved." 

"Did Zeus say yes?" 

"Sure did. As long as Cupid would help him win over whichever pretty young thing caught his eye." 

"Typical man," Clarke jokes. 

"So then Zeus convenes a special kind of assembly in heaven where Aphrodite is warned to back off and Psyche is made immortal." 

"Because they wanted to be married as equals?" 

Bellamy bites his lip and ducks his head. "Yeah, something like that." 

"You're such a romantic, Bellamy Blake," Clarke leans in and presses a quick kiss to his lips. 

It makes him catch his breath, but his heart kicks up quickly when her mouth skims against his earlobe to whisper, "What did they name the kid?" 

His answering smile is devious. "Pleasure." 

He lunges forward and Clarke moans as he wedges her soundly against the wall, hands firm on her waist. He leaves an open-mouthed kiss on her neck before she bats him away, blushing and dazed. "Next stop's ours," she says as the train rolls away from a near empty platform. 


	11. Chapter 11

It's a short walk from the train station to her apartment. She nods hello to the guard, Nyko, when he holds the door open for her. She's already stepped inside the lobby when she realizes Bellamy's no longer beside her. 

Biting her lip, she turns to find him staring straight up at the glass facade of Sky Towers. 

"Bellamy? Are you coming?" 

He stirs at the softness in her voice and walks forward. 

"I thought ... " he throws a glance at Nyko and smiles at the man with a swift nod of his head. The burly guard raises a bushy eyebrow at Clarke, a smile twitching under his beard. She hasn't brought anybody home in a while, and it's no secret the security at her building like to gossip about the residents. 

"You two have a good evening!" Nyko chuckles before falling back into his ramrod straight position. 

Bellamy falls into step beside her and slings an arm around her shoulders. It's casual, but goosebumps still rise on her arms despite his jacket. She's looking up at him, but his mouth's half-open staring at the waterfall along the far wall that ends in a small bubbling froth in a pond sporting overlarge orange fish. 

"You thought ...?" Clarke pokes him in the ribs to regain his attention. 

Bellamy's dark eyes meet hers and are full of both warmth and a twinge of guilt. He ducks down to whisper in her ear. "I thought you worked at The Dropship to make ends meet. I guess I wasn't expecting such a nice place." 

"Oh," Clarke nods in understanding, reaching for his hand and pulling him in the direction of the bank of elevators and then hitting the up button. 

He's fidgeting next to her as they wait, running his hand through his hair repeatedly. She can't help but find it endearing. Finally, the bell dings, and she all but drags him inside after her. As soon as the doors close, she starts talking. 

"I moved in here when I started med school. My dad, uh, well, he made good money as an architectural engineer. He wanted me to be in a safe area, and--" she swallows back the threat of tears, "my mom always said he was overindulgent, but this was one of the buildings he helped design. He left me some money my mom can't touch, so--" she shrugs. "I guess I still want this little part of him, you know?"

Bellamy nods and squeezes her hand.

"That makes sense, Princess. Thanks for telling me that." 

She's stupidly overcome by a rush of emotion and tucks away into his chest as the elevator soars up to the eighteenth floor. Bellamy draws her closer to him and whispers into her hair that it's a beautiful building. 

Clarke fumbles a little with her key and swings open the door to a darkened living room with a long, black cloth couch against one wall and built-in bookshelves sporting a TV in the space between them on the other. 

"For the record, the tips at The Dropship do help me pay tuition. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to swing it." 

She pulls off his jacket and hangs it in the hall closet before throwing out her arms and saying, "Well, this is it. Can I get you something to drink?" 

"No," Bellamy smiles at her. "I'm good." He yawns then immediately appears embarrassed. 

"Sorry, just, a few long shifts at the precinct this week. Guess I'm more tired than I thought. I can, uh..." His hand returns to play with his hair. "Just crash on your couch." 

Clarke sighs in fond annoyance. 

"What?" he frowns. 

She smirks at him.

"You maul me on the train, but won't come into my bedroom to sleep?" 

Bellamy's cheeks are dusted a shade of fruit punch. He shuffles his feet. "I didn't want to assume anything," he mumbles. 

"Oh my God, I might have found Mr. Darcy," she grins. "You've already seen me naked tonight, Blake. So come on." 

Bellamy's expression of horror when she steps out of her bathroom after combing out her hair and tells him he can just use her toothbrush is so priceless, she busts out laughing. 

"Kidding, kidding," she slides out of her jeans right there on the throw rug of her bedroom and riffles through her drawer for her fitted navy sweatpants. "I keep a few new ones in the left drawer. Help yourself." 

He doesn't move right away. It takes her a second to realize his eyes were most definitely on her ass when she was bent over. 

"Then the next second, you're back to being ..." 

"A caveman, right?" 

"Well," she sways her hips seductively as she approaches him, still holding the pants in her hands. "Yeah." 

"But you like it, huh?" 

Her eyes sparkle. 

"I like  _you_." 

Clarke leans up on her toes and gives him a chaste kiss, smiling into it when his hands immediately fly to her waist to steady her. "Go get ready for bed," she whispers against his neck. "Don't keep me waiting." 

When he climbs into the bed behind her a few minutes later, it's carefully. But she loves the sag of the mattress and his warm weight against side. She curls immediately on her side against him, snuggling under the blankets.

"Are you spooning me, Princess?" 

"Are you complaining?"

"No," he murmurs into her jawline and wraps his forearm across her waist, using his thumb to lightly stroke the delicate skin of her stomach. The scent of her minty toothpaste finds its way to her nose. 

She squirms, ticklish, and wiggles her ass into his groin just to be cheeky. His dick twitches in interest against the swell of her backside. 

"Clarke, don't," he groans, digging his fingers into her hipbone. "Or I'm gonna need to do it again."

"What? Fuck me?" Clarke asks innocently, pressing harder against him and letting out a short gasp when his hand closes over her breast in answer. "I thought you were too tired." 

"I am tired. But you're like an addiction," he nips at her earlobe. She rolls over onto her back and bats her eyelashes at him, all affection, in the mild moonlight coming in through a chink in her blinds. 

"That's good to know." 

He grins at her, a stunning smile of white teeth, and leans in to capture her mouth with his. It's a sweet kiss, slow and exploratory and delicious. She likes the strength of his forearms around her and the slide of his chest as he moves. She grunts in surprise when his fingers slip deftly under the waistband of her sweatpants and straight for the slickness building between her thighs.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's addicted," he teases. 

Clarke bites at his lower lip before soothing it with her tongue. 

"If you talk less, I'll let you take me from behind this time." 

"Shutting up now." 

In the morning, Clarke wakes up to the smell of coffee and sizzling eggs and bacon filling her apartment. Blinking blearily, she pulls her hair into a messy knot and pulls on Bellamy's shirt flung on her armchair and a fresh pair of panties. She likes smelling like his pine cologne. She trips down the hall to the kitchen to find Bellamy hard at work behind her stove. 

"And he  _cooks_?" She questions in disbelief, stepping forward to ruffle his hair affectionately, blushing warmly when one of his hands squeezes her ass playfully as he draws back from the kiss he leaves on her cheek. "Is this a fairytale?" 

"I didn't know if you'd like omelets or french toast better after last night, but those are my go-tos," he shrugs. "So I made both." 

"Then I'll happily eat both," Clarke smiles. She moves around him and starts rummaging in her cabinets to set the table, catching herself humming every few minutes while she waits for him to finish and trying to suppress it before she gets too out of hand. 

"You have a nice voice," Bellamy tells her as he sets down a plate on her flowery placemat. 

"You don't have to sweet talk me. I'll still have sex with you." 

His face falls for a moment, and her stomach drops clean to her toes. 

"Umm," he takes a step back and looks decidedly at her shoulder.

"Sorry," she blunders on. "That was a stupid thing to say--" 

He chuckles awkwardly.

"Actually ... since it's Sunday, I was going to ask if you'd go to the art museum with me today? They have a new Greek traveling exhibit, and I haven't seen it yet." 

A whoosh of air passes out of Clarke's lungs at the realization she didn't just blow this. 

"I'd love to," she says brightly before patting the spot beside her. "Grab a plate and come sit with me." 

*

"But Clarke!" Raven whines, putting on her best pouty face as she scrubs one of the diner tables down. "It's Imagine Dragons. These are amazing seats!" 

Clarke grins at her friend and stops refilling the ketchup and mustard containers she's been focused on at the counter. She's only worked at Gaia Cafe for a little over a month but already Raven, her fellow waitress, has burrowed into her life in the best of ways. 

"I know. I know. I suck," she concedes. "And I promise we'll go out dancing or something the next time we're both off. But Octavia's worked really hard to prepare for this equestrian competition, and I said I'd go." 

Raven snorts and shakes her head. 

"Horses over  _the_  concert of the year. That boy's got you in so deep." 

"Yeah, yeah," Clarke returns to the condiments. "What about asking Zeke, hmmmm?" her voice lilts. "He's been mooning over you every time he comes in here." 

"We're just  _friends,"_ Raven argues back, though she doesn't sound as convinced as she usually does when she says it. 

"Zeke is smitten with you, dear," Vera drops right into the conversation, appearing out of the back room carrying a box of freshly laundered napkins. "I think you should give him a chance." 

Since she started at the diner, Vera acts like the grandmother Clarke never had, always sending her home with leftover slices of pie and pot roast. It may have everything to do with a certain broad-shouldered, freckly boyfriend of hers, but Clarke's pretty sure Vera's developing a soft spot for her in her own right, too.  

Raven grunts and starts rubbing harder at the table. "It's as if you two don't believe in platonic or something." 

Clarke rolls her eyes. 

"There is nothing platonic about the way he looks at you. You two are always in your own little world whenever he's at the counter. And don't even pretend you don't let him win at some of those weird coding games you two play." 

"Ugh!" Raven whips around and drops a hand over her heart in mock outrage. "You take that back, Griffin!" 

"Never," Clarke wiggles her eyebrows just as Bellamy's truck (she was right) flashes into view. "Sorry, gotta run!" She hurries to hang up her apron and grab her purse and jacket. 

"Tell him I'm making lasagna on Tuesday!" Vera yells at her just as she swings open the door. Clarke waves in acknowledgement and hurries across the parking lot to where Bellamy's waiting in his old school Ford. 

He jumps out and moves around the front to open her door for her. 

"What service!" she chirps flirtatiously, rising onto her tiptoes to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him. "Is this a special occasion?" 

Bellamy grins down at her and tucks a bit of hair behind her ear.   

"Spending time with you usually qualifies." 

"Look how smooth you've gotten." 

She can't help it. She molds her body against his and relishes the way his arms wrap around her. 

"Please," Bellamy huffs into the top of her head. "I think you'll make me nervous for at least the first year." 

Her heart gives a small flutter at the words. 

"Oh yeah?" she draws back and kisses his neck while he chuckles. 

"Definitely," his deep voice returns. 

"Still want to drive up to Polaris Point tonight?" 

"Absolutely," Bellamy helps her into her seat and leans against the doorframe. "I want to watch the stars with you." 


End file.
